


rushing in a small town

by notorious



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, they are soft and also dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notorious/pseuds/notorious
Summary: hope and lizzie and seven minutes in heaven.
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman
Comments: 1
Kudos: 128





	rushing in a small town

**Author's Note:**

> behold: a snippet from an st3 scoops ahoy au that i will never finish. it's cute. mostly unedited. title from heart out by the 1975.
> 
> times are tuff so if you like what i do, consider buying me a "coffee" right [here](https://ko-fi.com/danceswithghosts) !!

You really don't know how it happens.

It isn't a party, you know that; there's only five of you, and by none of your standards is that a rager, but it's somehow still rowdy and so much common sense is lost to the hum.

And you've been drinking, you know that, too. Four beers and two bourbons, maybe three, and the world is warm and your heart is heavy and happy in your chest.

Must've been Kaleb's idea. Or MG's, you think, yeah, because he's like that, too. You aren't sure you care whose idea it was to begin with.

You aren't sure of much other than the fact that — hell, _somehow_ — you wind up in a dark closet with Lizzie Saltzman and seven minutes on the clock.

You also forget how to think.

"I'm not," you try, stalling. "You're just —"

"You're definitely gay," Lizzie clarifies for you, not unkindly. "And I'm...less defined? No idea. You wanna kiss me?"

You'd be a damn dirty liar to claim you haven't thought about it.

"No," you say.

"You sure about that?"

"No," you say again.

She smells like Maker's Mark and cloves and Camels and you wouldn't mind losing yourself in that, you think.

"I've thought about it," Lizzie says, like she's right there in your head. "What's the harm in trying?"

A lot, probably, you think briefly, but can't think of anything definitive in the moment. So you just nod, and Lizzie coaxes you up to her mouth with a hand on the back of your head. Her lips are warm and inviting and when she licks into your mouth it tastes like liquor and lust, and before you can stop them your hands skim down her back to lay heavy on her ass.

You melt into her as soon as her teeth tug at your lip. You hadn't realized you'd been holding back.

When she mutters, "hands," against your mouth you whisper, "sorry," and prepare to abandon ship, but she doesn't let you get more than millimeters away.

"No," she whines, tugging at your collar. "I meant —"

You drag your mouth away from Lizzie's lips to kiss along her jaw, scrape your teeth against her skin. "Yeah?" you prompt. You're losing yourself in her, you can feel it, and you can't remember the last time you weren't terrified to head somewhere without directions _or_ a solid destination.

"They're nice," she whispers, threading her fingers through your hair.

"Yeah?" you ask again, unable to keep the smirk out of your voice. Your hands tighten on her backside, dipping one into a pocket, pulling your hips together.

Nipping at her throat proves worth your while when she makes a sound you never dreamed you'd hear from Elizabeth Saltzman: a _whimper_. Sounds wrong, too innocent, so dirty, coming from her mouth, and you hate how much you want to hear it again.

She hums, and, "strong," she mumbles, and you're confused for a second until she catches your face in her hands and draws you back to her mouth. "Why do you think I like watching you scoop ice cream so damn much?"

"My hands?"

"Yes, dummy," she says, and giggles, another sweet sound you'd do well to never forget. And then she kisses you again, soft and wet and a little sloppy, all licks and lips, and a scrape of teeth when she sucks your tongue into her mouth and backs into the wall, pulling you up against her.

She's warm, her hands are hot, and her mouth sears its imprint onto yours. You don't think you've ever been so grateful to burn.

And then someone pounds on the door, shouts, "time's up, kids!" and Lizzie lays a hand on your chest and pushes you gently away.

"We should do this again sometime," she mutters, dragging her thumb over her bottom lip. Even in the dark you can see a smirk stretching from ear to ear.

"Yeah, keep it up, Saltzman," you chastise, but you're smiling. Trying not to blush, too. It's too easy for her to get you there, you think, but the heat in your cheeks is the last thing you're worried about if she actually _means_ the 'again sometime' thing.

You'll worry about that later, maybe, if at all.

You wouldn't mind another go-around, but you're trying not to think about that, either.

Getting Lizzie out of your head is going to be such a feat.

**Author's Note:**

> idk i'm on twitter sometimes @TRIBRlD


End file.
